


This Side of Morning

by athena_crikey



Series: The Doctor and the Detective [4]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Episode tie-in, Friendship, Gen, Morse isn't the only one with personal trauma, bad trip, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Morse attempts to go off half-cocked; DeBryn puts paid to that. Post-CANTICLE.





	

It was still light outside despite the fact that the clock on DeBryn’s mantelpiece read past nine; these were the dog-days of summer, full of heat and sunlight and the smell of green grass and clover. The windows were open and a gentle breeze was flowing in to cool the long bungalow of a home.

DeBryn was seated in his easy chair reading a past issue of the _Lancet_ when the knock came at his door. He glanced up at the clock, frowned, and rose, tossing the journal down on the tweed-upholstered seat. 

He wasn’t sure who he was expecting at such an hour on a Friday; call-outs to crime scenes came by phone, as did rush hospital pathology work. His neighbours were away holidaying in France, their Aberdeen terrier making a mess of his tidy back garden under his less-than-scrupulous surveillance. 

DeBryn flicked on the porch light and unlocked the door, pulling it open to find Morse standing on the doorstep in his shirtsleeves, face so pale it was practically glowing in the light filtering down from overhead. He had a twitchy, anxious look to him, his eyes shining fever-bright. His shirt clearly hadn’t been through the wash recently, was riding loose and wrinkled about his narrow frame. One of his trouser-legs was caught in his sock, and the laces of one shoe were trailing on the stone step.

DeBryn’s first thought was that he might very well be high again. Or still.

The first thing he said, immediately as DeBryn opened the door was, “I need to borrow your car.”

DeBryn raised his eyebrows slowly. “Why?” he asked, glancing out past Morse. There was no one else there, just the long reddening light of the sunset painting itself over the street. Looking back to Morse he found the shivery nervousness still there, like a naked filament – a current of energy condensed into a visible form. 

Morse ran a hand through his hair, his hand shaking. “I need to go to Leamington. Please, it’s urgent.” His eyes were darting rapidly about, his brow covered with a sheen of sweat.

Very possibly still high, was DeBryn’s assessment.

“I think you should come inside,” suggested the doctor mildly, stepping aside and motioning him in.

“I don’t have _time_ –”

“Morse. Come inside,” repeated DeBryn, making it an order this time. Morse’s jaw snapped shut and for a minute DeBryn feared he might turn around and march right back down the drive, but instead he stepped sullenly through and lingered near the door like a sulking child.

“Now,” said DeBryn, perching himself on the arm of his sofa and folding his hands between his knees, drawing on the consulting skills he had learned years ago and then stored away to gather dust upon taking his specialisation. “Tell me what’s in Leamington.” 

Morse stood tapping his foot, face long and a bit foolish with anxiety. “Miss Thursday. It’s Miss Thursday.”

DeBryn frowned. “What’s she doing there?”

“I don’t know!” exploded Morse, hands half-rising in the air. “She left. Left her family and Oxford and m– and left. She’s been gone for more than a month now, with no word.”

“So she’s run off from home?”

“Children run away from home. Adults leave,” replied Morse, scathingly.

DeBryn nodded slowly, tone mild. “An astute observation. Why, then, are you so wound up?”

“She called me. Tonight. From Leamington.” The words tumbled out one after the other, a desperate but unhelpful explanation. Morse let it lie between them, as though it explained everything.

“And she asked you to come see her?” probed DeBryn, still projecting his careful atmosphere of calm and rationality in the face of Morse’s frantic, frenetic urgency. As the conversation progressed he was becoming more anxious, winding himself up like a spring despite DeBryn’s soothing tone.

Morse raised a hand to run his palm over his forehead in a restless, uncomfortable gesture. “She didn’t _say_ anything,” he admitted slowly. “But that must mean –”

“She didn’t say anything? At all?”

Morse just stared back silently, unbowed and all the more irate for it.

“Then how do you know she was calling from Leamington?”

“The operator said. Someone called from Leamington and reversed the charges.”

DeBryn stood. “So you don’t in fact know that it _was_ Miss Thursday?” he asked, carefully.

“Who else could it have been?” demanded Morse, half-shouting. 

DeBryn stepped forward, hands raised reassuringly. “Morse, I think you should sit down and have some tea. You’ve still got the remnants of the hallucinogens in your system, you need to take it easy. Sit down here and I’ll –” As he spoke, DeBryn was reaching out for Morse, gently as a man approaching a skittish horse. 

As soon as he touched Morse’s shoulder, Morse tore himself away. “What I _should be doing_ ,” he began, throwing his arm out to push away DeBryn. He miscalculated the gesture and instead of pushing the doctor away struck him hard in the face with the back of his hand. DeBryn’s glasses tumbled to the floor and he staggered back, pain blossoming across his cheekbone and over his nose. He ducked his head into his hands, instinctively cradling the points of pain. 

“Doctor? Christ – I – DeBryn?”

Morse’s hands were on his back, a gentle pressure over his spine and shoulder. He sounded scared, the fear of a child who’s broken a vase and knows there will be consequences. 

DeBryn straightened, running his index finger under his nose and holding it up to inspect it: no blood. Morse stooped to pick up his glasses and returned them; DeBryn put them back on and the room resumed its clarity of focus. 

“Are you alright? I’m sorry – I –”

“There appears to be no harm done,” said DeBryn, glancing at the young man who was standing before him, shrunken back into himself with appalled shame. “Don’t look so scared; I’ve had worse.”

Morse’s brow crinkled. “When?”

“That’s a story for another time, Morse,” he said, gently. “Come with me and sit down.” He led the now-unprotesting Morse to the sofa and pushed him down, taking a moment to press the back of his hand to Morse’s brow. Morse flinched but didn’t draw away; his skin was cool and clammy. “Good. Are you experiencing anything out of the ordinary? Visual or auditory symptoms?”

“They discharged me with a clean bill of health,” he replied, sounding a little needled. 

“Yes, Morse, but they also discharged you within forty-eight hours of your initial imbibing of the hallucinogenic substance. It’s entirely possible that you’re still riding the high. Do your emotions feel unusually strong? Feelings of inappropriate stress, euphoria, or fear?”

“I’m fine,” but he sounded less certain now. “Mostly fine,” he appended. “Just a little shaky.”

“And a little over-wrought,” added DeBryn, giving him an honest look. Morse flushed. 

“Perhaps a little.” 

“I’ll make some tea. Stay there. Put your feet up if you like.” He puttered off through the open entrance to the kitchen, filling the kettle and putting it on the cooker, all the while glancing back over the tops of the counter that separated the sitting room and the kitchen to keep an eye on Morse. Only when he was convinced that the detective was showing no signs of running off into the night did he begin slowly to relax, going through his cupboards and producing a pair of mugs and the tea caddy. 

“Sugar?” he asked. Morse made the indeterminate noise of one not listening, so DeBryn put a scoop of sugar into his cup for him – it would do him good. His own he left black, pouring in the tea when the kettle began to whistle. 

He returned to the sitting room with the two mugs in his hands to find Morse curled up on the sofa, head turned to stare behind him out the large window that looked out onto the street. Outside the world was darkening, the sky a velvety navy blue pricked through with the first stars. 

“Morse?”

“I think I’m in love with her,” he said out of the blue, without looking back. “Or I was, or … I don’t know. When she left and there was nothing I could do to stop her it was like I’d been shot. Everything about her was so vivid and the rest of the world just ran into grey, and all I knew was the pain of her leaving. It’s tearing Inspector Thursday up too – and there’s been no word, and… I need her to be alright. It had to be her tonight, and I just… _why didn’t she say anything?_ ” He turned back to DeBryn and the doctor saw the tears in his eyes, the grief stamped across his face.

“She’ll talk in her own time,” replied DeBryn softly, handing Morse the tea; the detective took it and immediately took a deep sip, drawing in air to cool the scalding liquid. DeBryn rounded the coffee table and took a seat on the other side of the sofa. “You’re a police officer Morse, and you’ve been through some terrible things. You have experience and training to draw on. Miss Thursday saw a colleague killed in front of her in the bank; that wasn’t something anything could have prepared her for.”

Morse shook his head slowly. “It was more than that. It was Inspector Thursday. Before you arrived, he nearly shot one of the robbers – nearly put a bullet in him right in front of her. I think she realised then for the first time how close to the dark we live, how close to it her father’s always been. How little separates us from those we pursue.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I didn’t used to. This last year? I don’t know anymore.” He put the mug down on the coffee table and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “I used to think we all followed the same code, looked to the same compass – or at least most of us. Now? It feels as though I’ve been living in a world divorced from reality, that what I took to be fundamental truths are simply guidelines to be ignored by everyone else as it suits them. I feel alone.” He looked to DeBryn. “I’m tired of being alone.”

For a moment all the masks dropped from his face leaving it lined and exhausted, and DeBryn was unkindly reminded that only a little over twenty four ago he had been screaming himself hoarse in a hallucinogenic state. 

His bloodwork had come down to pathology with his name scribbled on it and _Hallucinogen OD qry LSD_ ; DeBryn had assigned out the testing as top priority and run up the stairs to Casualty to find Morse fighting against chemical restraints, with DI Thursday hovering over him half mad with anxiety. The memory of Morse’s wild, soulless eyes wasn’t one he would soon forget. 

“Well for the moment at least, you’ve managed to find yourself some company,” said DeBryn, with all the pleasantness he could muster. “You can stay here tonight; you’re done in. Let me just fetch Archie in, and then I can see what I can find for you to sleep in.”

“Archie?” asked Morse as DeBryn rose.

“I’m sure you’ll get along famously,” he said, rather darkly, as he padded through the house to the back door. The dog was lolling about somewhere in the darkness, but he came when called, trotting up with his collar jingling. “In you come, then,” sighed DeBryn, letting the terrier in. 

Morse was standing at the far end of the hall where it joined the sitting room; Archie rushed down to greet him, yapping as he bounded along. “Archie,” snapped DeBryn crossly, to no avail. He reached Morse and promptly started jumping up, barking all the while, the stump of his tail wagging like mad.

“Hullo,” said Morse, a little bemusedly, and bent to pet him. Archie settled a little under the attention, sidling up against Morse’s leg. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I haven’t. He belongs to my neighbours. He’s a noisy little blighter, but there’s no harm in him. He’ll have us both up at the crack of dawn for walkies, though,” he added, apologetically.

\------------------------------------------------------------

They made an early night of it, Morse looking like a spectre in the glow of DeBryn’s reading lamps. Archie had taken to Morse, and the detective made no protest when the dog chose to accompany him into the guest room, weaving in and out of his legs as Morse walked down the hallway.

DeBryn sat up in bed for some while reading before turning the light out; as usual, sleep came quickly to him.

He was awakened sometime in the night, hot and sweaty under the unnecessary warmth of his duvet, by a thump, a cry, and Archie’s sudden excited barking. He hurried out of bed, bypassing his bathrobe and slippers, and down the hall to the door of the guest room. He knocked once, received no immediate answer, and burst in, switching on the lights as he went.

Morse was lying on the floor, half-tangled in his sheets. He was curled into a ball, arms wrapped tight around himself. Archie was weaving backwards and forwards anxiously at his bare feet, clearly expecting more excitement to follow. DeBryn stepped over and shooed him away tersely. 

“Morse?” 

Morse looked up. His face was flushed with sleep but his eyes were wide and staring. His fingers were digging deeply into his biceps, the skin there pale and furrowed. “I can’t forget. I thought I had – thought I had pushed it all down and buried it away, but it’s still there. Still _here_.” He reached a hand up to tangle it in his hair, twisting sharply. 

DeBryn knelt down beside him, gently taking hold of his hand and pulling it away. “It’s alright; you’re alright now. You’re safe here, Morse.”

Morse shook his head, screwing his eyes tightly closed and ducking his head to press his chin to his chest. “I’m not. What happened, what it did to me, it’s here. In me, in my mind. ”

“That’s just the sleep talking. You’ve had a nightmare; it’s over now. Come on, sit up.” He helped pull Morse up, propped him up in the corner formed by the bed frame and the night stand. Morse’s long legs swung around, his bare feet digging into the thick carpet. Archie sat beside them, head cocked uncertainly to the side. “There you are. Take a deep breath. And another. Feeling better?”

Morse opened his eyes slowly, just slivers of blue at first, widening as his trust grew. “What’s happening to me?”

“It’s just the after-effects of the drugs, Morse. They oughtn’t to have discharged you so soon.”

“It’s not – it’s just… memories. They’re so vivid. I thought I had finally escaped. I thought I was safe. Now…” He ran his hands through his hair, pressing his forearms to his face. “What if it never leaves me? If my mind has been scarred, damaged –”

“Morse.” DeBryn took him gently by the shoulders and turned him; Morse looked up from under his eyelashes, watching with a mistrustful, crooked gaze. Slowly his arms dropped away, body untensing. “This is just the remains of the drugs working their way out of your system, combined with your sub-consciousness processing what it’s been through. You’re fine. You just need rest, and reassurance. Trauma of any kind can linger, but it will fade.”

“I want it gone, done with.” He made a sharp, slicing motion with his hand. 

“I know. But it may take some time. Talking may help – can you tell me what happened?”

There was a long pause while Morse stared into the distance, his hands coming to rest on his knees and curling in on themselves. “It was the lemonade,” he said at last, in a tired tone. “At the mansion. The girl – Emma – offered me some. It was hot and I was thirsty. It was spiked, of course, although I didn’t realise it then. But soon… the world started spinning, and my heart began to pound, and I knew something was wrong and that she had done it. That I was losing myself, the same way Nick Wilding had – that I was going mad. After that… there’s no sensible way to describe it; there was nothing sane about it. The air was on fire. Sounds made me bleed. The feel of my clothes against my skin was like being scrubbed with steel wool. The only thing I knew was that I was in danger, but everything hurt me and the world was full of shadows with tongues of smoke and hands of cinders and when they whispered it cut me. And it never, ever seemed to end.” 

“I’m sorry, Morse; that sounds truly horrific.” He shook his head, momentarily silenced by the pain in Morse’s voice. “But you endured it and found yourself again, that’s a testament to your strength of character. That strength will see you through this. Although for the next few nights, you could procure a prescription from your –”

“No more drugs,” interrupted Morse, firmly. 

“No. I’m sorry.”

Morse shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” He sat up a little straighter. Slowly, he widened his legs and pat his thigh; by his feet, Archie wagged his tail and then fussed up to lick at his hand. “I’m sorry; ruining your night wasn’t my intention,” he said, looking over to DeBryn with a weak twitch of his lips. 

“Don’t mention it. My door is always open to those in need. I seldom find the opportunity to assist the living; it’s a pleasant change of pace.”

Morse did smile now, petting down Archie’s thick curls with both hands. “Thank you.” Archie snuffled contentedly against his hip, Morse scratching over his ears and down the back of his head. “What I said before – about Miss Thursday. I haven’t told anyone – that is, it was probably just the influence of the drugs, and –”

“Morse, your secret is safe with me. For as long as you care to keep it.”

“Thank you,” said Morse again, this time with relief. For a moment he sat with the dog under his hands, face lightened. Eventually, he spoke again with a careful, hesitant tone. “I was wondering – earlier, when I… struck you… you said you had had worse. When was that? I mean… is there something I could do?” 

“No; it’s in the past, now.” DeBryn stilled for long enough that Morse turned to look at him, blue eyes now bright in his pale face. His freckles spotted over his fair skin like a light dusting of cinnamon. “It’s not a very pleasant story,” the doctor said at last, reaching up to nudge his glasses higher on his nose. 

“I’d like to know. If you’ll tell me.”

DeBryn shrugged. “There’s no secret to it. It was before your time, but I’m sure Inspector Thursday would remember. There was a missing person’s case – a young girl. Seven. The police found her body near Hinksey. It was brought to me for autopsy. It was a horrible case – she had been assaulted, and badly beaten. Just as I was completing the post-mortem her father burst into the mortuary, furious and grief-stricken. To be confronted with his daughter’s corpse, and the man who had just finished sewing it back up… I can understand how one would lose control.”

“He attacked you,” breathed Morse, eyes still locked on DeBryn. It was the doctor who looked away first, raising a hand to his cheek to run over a long-since healed bruise. 

“I was fortunate; my assistants were nearby and arrived in time to pull him off me before irreparable damage was done. I didn’t file a report; it didn’t seem the proper course, not after what he’d learned, and what he’d seen.” He shrugged slowly, loosening muscles which had tensed involuntarily. “I spent some time in hospital. After they titrated down my pain medication, the memories left me with nightmares. The mortuary had been a second home; to have that sense of security taken from me was a terrible loss.” 

Morse’s hands over Archie’s head had stilled; the dog gave a whine and pressed his nose to Morse’s palm. Morse pet him absently. “How did you get it back?”

DeBryn took a deep breath. “Slowly,” he answered, with a humourless smile. “For the first while I didn’t work alone; as time passed and I regained my confidence I started to send my assistant away on longer and longer tasks, until I no longer needed him. And we no longer allow family members into the mortuary; they can view the deceased through the window in the hall.”

“I’m sorry.”

DeBryn looked up, eyes gentle. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Morse was watching him with a look between apology and regret. “No; I assumed no one would understand – that I was alone. But you, and Inspector Thursday – you both know what it is to lose your security, to lose what it is you rely upon.”

“You can come back from it,” replied DeBryn. “With work, and time. I’m sure Archie and myself would be glad to have you here for as long as you like,” he added, with a glance to the dog, who gave a happy _whuff_ at the sound of his name.

Morse gave a slow, soft smile. “Then… I’ll do my best. And I’ll look to you for guidance.”

“Happy to help, I’m sure.” He stretched his back, then looked to the bedside clock – just past one. “I know it’s rather late, but would you fancy another cup of tea? You needn’t rush back to bed.”

“Thanks. I think I’d like that.”

END


End file.
